


Coming Home

by Blue_Five



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Kanima-Werewolf Jackson Whittemore, M/M, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-09
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-03-26 05:56:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13851504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_Five/pseuds/Blue_Five
Summary: They all feel the pull to return to Beacon Hills.





	Coming Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tryslora](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/gifts).



_Now the light commands, this is my home_

_I'm coming home . . ._

                       "Major Tom" - Peter Schilling

* * *

Derek Hale feels the pull to return to Beacon Hills one steamy night in Buenos Aires.  He sits naked by his hotel room window, sweat cooling on his skin.  Thin clouds drift around the moon which is almost full.  Derek lets his senses take in the crowds on the street below, the sounds of sex in the rooms around him, a child crying a street or two over -- until this moment, the crush of humanity in the crowded city has been enough to fill the strange empty place inside himself that's never quite healed since he lost his family and Pack so long ago.  When that becomes too much for even the onslaught of sensation to overcome, he escapes to the surrounding countryside and lets his wolf free.  Derek learned quickly that he is far from the only shifter in this part of the world.  He's barely considered unusual and when he walks down the twisting roads, Derek is always amused by how many otherworldly gazes flash his direction - either in acknowledgement or warning. 

"You should go home."

Derek turns a raised eyebrow toward the shapely form stretching across his bed.  He doesn't know her name but she doesn't know his either.  He's hardly been celibate since he arrived.  Pleasure given and received -- it's all he needs from any encounter.

"You don't even know where I'm from," he points out.

The woman sits up and stretches.  He sees the feline influence in her movements and after a lazy, uninhibited yawn, her eyes flash yellow sparks at him.  His cock doesn't respond.  He knows what her warmth feels like now and it was enough for the moment.  He's not drawn to explore further.  She smirks knowingly and slinks over to him, her scent still thick with his own.  Dark hair tumbles over one shoulder and he startles as a memory jolts to the surface of his brain.  Dark hair brushed back from a pale face teasingly marked with random moles -- dots that always made Derek's fingertips itch with the need to trace them wherever they might lead.

"That look," the woman smiles.  "Find the one that brings that look to your face.  Your wolf wants them."

"I'm more than the desires of my wolf," Derek frowns.

She lays a long-nailed hand on his chest, fingers twining in the hair there.  "And I am more than my panther, no?  But she is still part of me ... she guides me when my human heart cannot find its way."  The woman purrs and her eyes take on their feline aspect.  "Although I haven't minded being a distraction from your past." 

She brushes lips that still taste of him against Derek's mouth.  He follows the motion with his tongue and a sigh, pulling her against him again.  He feels her moist heat but his body refuses to be tempted.  Derek inhales the scent of her hair - an odd but pleasing blend of jasmine and banana of all things - before letting his head fall to her shoulder.

"He doesn't feel that way about me.  It's useless to dream about something that will never happen," Derek murmurs into her skin.

Her fingers weave into his hair and it's claws that scrape gently against his scalp.  It feels good and he presses into the touch.  "Listen to your wolf, sad one.  It longs for its companion hearts."

Derek's head comes up with a confused sound.  "Hearts?  As in more than one?"

She smiles.  Disentangling herself, the woman dresses quickly and gathers her hair again away from her face.  "Go home, wolf.  Come back when you've found your peace.  I'll be interested in seeing what the moon brings you."

With that overly cryptic sentence, the woman leaves and Derek goes back to watching the sky.  He finally calls housekeeping to change the sheets while he showers and emerges clean of all but his own scent.  He crawls into his bed and sleeps after a while.  When Derek wakes up, he packs and finds a flight that day heading back home.  He finds himself almost giddy with anticipation because he wants to see what the moon will bring him as well.

* * *

Jackson Whittemore fumbles his phone from his jeans and dials his best friend Danny.  His fingers slide on the screen because of the blood on them.  It takes a lot to keep his voice even when Danny answers.

"I don't have time to explain, I need a flight home tonight," Jackson hisses.

Danny, bless him, doesn't do more than pause before he's muttering to himself and tapping on something.  "Can you get to Gatwick in ... an hour?"

Jackson cocks an ear down the alleyway he's hiding in.  "Yeah ... yeah, I think I can do that."  Something clatters.  "Gotta go."

Jackson ends the call and lets his body shift slightly.  It's an annoying fact that the _kanima_ left a legacy.  He's a werewolf but his body can also take on the _kanima's_ form.  He chooses it now because the scales provide better protection and he's faster.  Plus his venom, he's learned, can be a highly toxic poison.  And since he had to gut a Hunter not 30 minutes ago, Jackson isn't taking chances.

Jackson scales the side of the building and jerks to one side just in time to avoid a bullet.  It pings off the wall sending sharp bits of brick into Jackson's face.  He hisses and his eyes gleam yellow down at the shadows.  He can see the two men as plain as day and he guesses the goggles they wear lets them do the same.  Their rifles are dulled to prevent reflection but the moon slips out from behind a bank of clouds and sends pale silver light down on the boroughs of London.  It's enough that Jackson sees the _third_ hunter taking aim from the opposite rooftop.  He curses and lets his body shift completely.  Jackson slithers horizontally across the building façade, pressing himself nearly flush to the surface.  Shots ping and spark around Jackson as he darts and weaves impossibly fast, gradually heading for the roof.  He curls over the edge and releases a roar of pain when one of the shots grazes his shoulder.  Slamming his tail down on the roof edge, Jackson breaks a large chunk of brick away and bats it down to the ground.  The _kanima's_ fangs gleam when Jackson hears a cut-off shout from below.  He doesn't bother checking, he's got to get the hell out of here.

Taking a moment to orient himself, Jackson starts making his way toward the airport.  He needs ... honestly, Jackson isn't sure what he needs.  His dreams of late have been rather vivid involving himself and two individuals he can't quite make out.  What goes between them is hot and raw and Jackson never fails to wake from those dreams with a burning need and his body half-shifted into his wolf.  It's unsettling to say the least and the sensory data within the dreams is that of Beacon Hills.  He never really thought about it when he lived there but Jackson realizes that the Preserve's smell permeates Beacon Hills.  The entire town has absorbed the scents of wood, leaf and earth.   Just thinking about it now while he's running for his life makes him ache in a strange way.

He feels like an idiot for wanting this -- Jackson remembers his self-vow to never return but when the Hunters cornered him early that evening, a memory flooded over him.  Lydia's love gave him the strength to find his humanity again but it wasn't until a particular set of claws sank into his body, ending his life that Jackson realized his true anchor was a broken Alpha wolf.  It barely matters that he fled Beacon Hills before he could reveal the depth of his feelings.  Jackson knows he needs to go back.  He needs to face the place where he was born and raised and he needs to exorcise his demons fully at last. 

An arrow buries itself in the _kanima's_ tail and Jackson stumbles, nearly falling off the roof he's scaling.  He shelters behind a façade decoration before reaching down to pull the arrow through his tail.  It's coated in wolfsbane.  Jackson feels the burn in his muscles as the poison flows through him.  He concentrates for a moment and the venom dripping from his claws suddenly takes on a sickly sweet smell.  He presses his thumb into the wound on his leg and exhales sharply.  White hot pain flares and then fades as his own toxin sears the flesh and closes the hole, neutralizing the wolfsbane's effects.  His healing factor quickly brings the _kanima's_ strength back and Jackson hisses darkly.  Yellow reptilian eyes narrow and Jackson rolls his neck, his muscles tight and creaking.  He'd been perfectly willing to let the remaining Hunters survive tonight but apparently they're going to push the issue.  So Jackson is going to push back ... hard.

After all, he's got a flight to catch.

* * *

Stiles Stlinski stares at the text he just got from Danny. 

_He's coming back.  So's Derek.  Get your ass home._

Home.  Stiles snorts and tosses his phone onto the bed beside him.  Beacon Hills hasn't been home since a phone call in the middle of the night shattered his heart.  He buried his father, packed his Jeep and left the crazy supernatural town that had turned his idea of reality on its head behind.  He misses Scott but thinking about the rest of their motley darkness-fighting crew brings memories of his life in Beacon Hills to mind and even after so many years, the memories _hurt_.

The pain in his chest feels like a spike and, oddly enough, it has nothing to do with his dad.  Oh, he still grieves John Stilinski every day but that pain is something with a rational reason behind it.  He lost the last member of his family and society will allow his bereavement to go on for as long as it will.  Oddly enough, the fact that John died in a common, mundane robbery gone wrong situation actually helps Stiles.  It lets him mourn without guilt -- his dad _chose_ a job in law enforcement with all its requisite dangers.  It doesn't lessen the anguish but there aren't any secrets about what happened.

No, it's the pronoun Danny chose that's making his throat feel tight and his stomach clench uncomfortably.  After all these years, it just pisses Stiles off that even a random mention of _him_ can bring back all the unresolved shit of high school.  He's come a long way since his awkward teenage years.  Stiles has game now and he sure as hell doesn't have to spend the night alone if he doesn't want to -- although he usually does because he's apparently subconsciously carrying a torch for a beautiful asshole that never even noticed Stiles unless he was tormenting him ... or trying to kill him.

Swinging his long legs out of bed, Stiles pads naked to the closet.  Life with werewolves has erased whatever inhibitions he had about his body.  Besides, he's hardly been idle since he moved away.  His small apartment is freakishly neat and Spartan - an irony he thinks his dad would have enjoyed - because he wants to be able to go at a minute's notice.  He's trained heavily with militia-style teams vetted by Chris Argent and can now boast expertise in nearly every firearm in existence.  While he enjoys enhanced firepower, Stiles likes less mechanical weapons.  They're easier to spell for inflicting more damage.  In fact, he still has his bat in the Jeep and the repel spell on it has knocked a few fae creatures on their asses.

Two blankets conceal the plastic tote from view in the back of the closet.  He takes it back to his bed and sits down.  The top items are his dad's service pistol and badge.  He sets these aside with a shaky exhale - he can't fall into that pit right now.  Digging down, Stiles pulls out papers and items that have special memories attached to them until he reaches one that has _horrible_ memories associated with it but also marks a milestone.  Picking up a small baby food jar, Stiles turns it in his hand.  A single translucent claw tumbles inside.  He grunts when he realizes the venom on the claw is still moist which means it's still capable of paralyzing him.

"Go figure," Stiles mutters.  "You're still dangerous to me even though I haven't seen you in years."

His long-suffering crush on Lydia had actually been camouflage for the real crush on her erstwhile boyfriend.  He'd endured years of self-doubt and torment because nothing seemed to bring him closer to his heart's desire.  In fact, after Scott had been bitten, things had gotten exponentially worse with all of Stiles' efforts.  He winced, recalling the ill-fated kidnapping.  Brushing his fingertips lightly over his nape, Stiles brings to mind the sharp pain of claws like this one piercing his skin and stealing away his ability to move.  His cock gives a twitch and he glares at it.

"Traitor.  You know he hated me, why can't you just let it go?"  Stiles flops back on his bed.  "Great ... I'm talking to my dick.  Stilinski, you are in serious danger of another trip to Eichen House."

Stiles winces at his own bad humor.  The _nogitsune_ had used him as surely as the _kanima_ had been used by others.  Stiles often fantasizes about what might have been had _he_ been the one sitting outside the house that night.  Would the _kanima_ have chosen him as its Master?  Stiles feels his cock harden and a surge of guilt flows through him followed by a slightly nauseous feeling that puts paid to any hard-on.  He'd have given anything to be with the blonde bane of his existence back then and he wonders if the temptation would have been too much to resist.  He groans, throwing one arm over his eyes.

"Fuck!!"

His go-bag is at the door and it'll take him maybe a half-hour to gather the remainder of his belongings that he cares about.  He holds up the claw and studies it again.  He'd found it on the lacrosse field not long after watching the man that held his heart being taken off the field dead.  Oh he'd been a miserable sight and the worst thing about it was that he never told anyone.  Not even Scott.  Not even Derek - although Derek's never been much on feelings anyway so why would he have confided in sourwolf in the first place?  Stiles snorts to himself remembering how he'd lain in the grass for about twenty minutes or so after touching the damn thing.  Stiles wipes unbidden tears away.  He's going to go home.  He really doesn't have any choice.  If nothing comes of the reunion ... fine.  He'll find a way to end this ridiculous obsession and finally go on with his life.

His life.  Stiles sighs.  His life consists of sitting in front of his computer for hours on end hacking sites for Danny's security company.  He has three restaurants within walking distance that he visits when he's hungry.  Conversation is sparse and his physical exertion comes from daily workouts and practicing his spell casting.  He sleeps with whoever catches his eye if he's in the mood but mostly he watches the moon cross the sky at night and sits on the fire escape when it rains.  He dreams of hazel-eyed wolves and snarling lizards.  Home is starting to sound better with each passing moment so after a long last look, Stiles tosses the claw into a box and gets up to pack.  It's a long drive to California.


End file.
